


the only thing he's good for

by orphan_account



Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Father/Son Incest, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Pre-Canon, Pseudo-Incest, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:12:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23058511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is the best thing Wolf's let in in so long.
Relationships: Great Shinobi Owl/Sekiro | Wolf
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	the only thing he's good for

**Author's Note:**

> I refuse to apologize for this. dont read it its poorly edited dubcon/noncon/shotacon etc etc etc

Wet. Big. It smells salty, briny,

Wolf is moved back and forth, like rough rocking. Is this what being on a ship is like? Is this what being on sea is like? It's a novel feeling, but he's tired and starting to feel a bit more nauseous, so he keeps his eyes shut and hides his face in his arms.

Something cold and wet and oily slides his hakama down, still a size too big on him. He squirms in his place as it moves the cloth of his fundoshi to the side and presses in.

Surprisingly, unlike all the other times, it feels… okay. It's exploratory, and his cock stirs with the only other source of stimulation being him slowly grinding his hips into his futon.

There's a weight overhead. A warmth. It keeps him caged, it keeps him _safe_ and he needs it. Wants it. The thing in him curls inward, coaxing small whimpers from the young Wolf. He can't imagine the creature toying with him, but his mind conjures up wet and goopy tendrils nonetheless. More keeps his hips in place, and there's a low and rumbling sound next to him. He can't understand it, even if it's just a bit familiar.

It wraps around his cock, a treat for being good. Pumps it a few times, enough to have Wolf struggle and writhe beneath the mass that slowly envelopes him. His vision darkens.

Even when his skin is exposed, none of him feels bare. He's safe in this cage, safe in this suffocating hold as something thick that feels too familiar presses into him as the slimy tendrils slide out. It's so big… it can't ever fit. Sure, worse has been shoved into Wolf's rear before, but not like this, not when he likes the kindling sparks in his tummy and up his own dick.

It might feel good.

But he's so _scared_.

"D-daddy…" He meekly and weakly calls out for the only person that will ever help him if he's been a good (or bad) enough boy, and more tendrils reach up to his scalp and comb through his hair. The waves hush his whimpers and calms his heart.

It's not right. It's not right if it's not father.

Tendrils thumb at his lips and press down until they part. Wolf gives them a shy lick; salty and musky, just the way Wolf's always known them to be. They're short and thick, perfect for his small mouth as Wolf latches onto them quickly, sucking and laving over those sinuous tentacles that press every which way inside the roof of his mouth, tongue, teeth, cheeks, gums. Having something big and reliable to suckle on feels good, so Wolf quiets down and keeps doing one of the only things he's good at.

The creature with too many limbs and tentacles and tendrils to keep track of presses into his soft, tight hole, and it's so slick that it doesn't hurt. It's slick enough to slide slowly into Wolf, and in this moment, Wolf can't starve, doesn't want for anything. He's full. He's satisfied. He must have done something good because he's seeing stars in his eyes and pressing back against that pressure stretching him deliciously wide. It's too slow but Wolf's too good a boy to beg, instead waiting patiently to be given what he needs.

He needs this. He wants this.

The cage is so hot that it's suffocating him with his own breath, but that's fine because the tendrils on his hair and in his butt and in his mouth pushing and pulling and stroking at him are so smooth and so mind-bendingly _good_ that nothing matters anymore. Wolf can feel the drool dripping off from his chin and he doesn't care. Wolf can feel the slight pain of his hair getting caught in knots and tangles and he doesn't care. The only things he cares for is what's filling him, what's making him full, making him complete, making him _whole_.

He cums quickly and the mass rumbles and shakes. It's pleased. It wants more from him, and Wolf will keep being the only thing he’s good at.

He's pushed forth and he pushes back until he's dry and can't move anymore. The tentacles just shy of entering his throat muffle his soft murmurs for his father, for whatever reason he's doing so. It should feel wrong that he's being used by someone that's not his father, yet he can't help the fact that he feels so complete, so safe and suffocated, _just like father_.

_This is where he belongs_.

He falls back asleep as he's filled with warm, thick seed.

* * *

Wolf recognizes the soreness he feels when he wakes up. Father is eating breakfast, a spare meal set in front of him, along with an unusual plate of sweet buns.

His father stares at him expectedly as Wolf rouses, and after a split second of deliberation he stumbles over to his father's lap, droplets of hours-old cum staining the sheets, mats, his father's bare thighs, and wraps his braid around him, just as he likes to. Maybe presses his backside a bit too deliberately on the soft length against his back. Owl offers out a mouthful of rice for Wolf, and he obediently opens his mouth again.


End file.
